


Sparrow

by Bidawee



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Background BDSM, Blackmail, Espionage, Government Agencies, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, No Sex, Porn Watching, Sexpionage, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Undercover As Prostitute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22349149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bidawee/pseuds/Bidawee
Summary: He’s already cycled through a few like Brown: those who commit themselves to their work and live rather frugal lifestyles, afraid to indulge themselves. He might benefit more from giving Brown a glimpse of that whole other world. It makes him lookthatmuch more alluring.
Relationships: Frederik Andersen/Connor Brown
Comments: 14
Kudos: 44





	Sparrow

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched the movie Red Sparrow on the weekend. This happened.
> 
> Let me know if any additional tags need to be included. I will warn that there are mentions of BDSM in the story that are never physically experienced and just talked about. They don't contribute anything to the narrative beyond fantasy. A more detailed description of the plot is in the endnotes.
> 
> What the tags are trying to communicate is that there is no active sex scene in the story, but mentions of and descriptions of sex are prominent.

It is the recommendation of the panel that takes him out of the office and back into the field.

They’re one name away from finding out who’s giving one of their double agents protection overseas and it’s put everyone on the edge of their seats. A two-year-long project, about to come to an end. Even though he hasn’t been an active participant in the case, he knows enough to understand why they contact the State School for help. Yet, it’s so uninvolved in his line of work that maybe, at first, he thinks he’s excluded from the effort, as he pulls his covers over his head.

That’s about to change.

On Wednesday morning, the directors give him an assignment: Connor Brown. A picture of him is paperclipped to the file. It’s the standard profile shot that they use on government websites. 

He looks ordinary, younger than most. He has an overbite. Crooked ears. One scar on the bridge of his nose and another on his top lip. They are the features that make him distinct.

He reads through the paperwork, line by line. It’s his copy, so he underlines and jots in notes with a red pen. Near the end, he becomes impatient. He waits for something important to stick out: a criminal background, an incentive, a story to write home about. The bio at the bottom of page two states that he has connections to one of the Hungarian agents they are looking for within the province of Quebec. But only loosely. So loose, it may as well be speculation.

In the back of the folder, in one of the inside pockets, he finds a prepaid credit card. It joins a NEXUS card that Brown would be using at the American border as one of the items that the Danish government have found peculiar. The fact that it hasn’t been investigated beyond that is concerning. That means it’s a dead-end, and one that’s not worth his time.

It’s insulting to have the directors give this to him, when it’s clearly designed for the bottom feeders that have the time and energy to invest in a chase. So, he makes the mistake of assuming it’s a slip in the address book and schedules to bring it up at the weekly Friday meeting, which can’t come too soon for him. He never raises a complaint about the jobs that they give him--no matter how vile--and he only works in the best interests of their objective. It’s a common theme in all of the projects that’s assigned to; thus, now a part  of his résumé. Because of that, he likes to think they look on with pride when he voices his opinion, as he does now. 

The board members are seated around an oval-shaped mahogany table. Their cups balance on painted china plates and other delicate pieces. He keeps his arms behind his back and straightens his shoulders, sucking in his waist. 

“Andersen,” the man at the head, Thomson, calls out, “come in.”

He nods in greeting to the other members, keeping his face firm. None of them have any visible reaction to him being there.

Thomson continues, “what can we do for you?”

“I don’t think Brown is an appropriate target for me,” he says, with no introduction.

“What makes you say that?” Thomson asks. Both of his bushy eyebrows are tipped down.

“You have seen his file. He’s low ranking. Send one of the newer, inexperienced recruits. Let them sharpen their teeth on him.”

“I would, only,” he pauses for a second, “I think you would be a good fit. He has valuable information--and all we’re looking for is a name.”

“I understand--”

”And I hope you don’t think of yourself as above him, knowing that,” he adds.

Frederik’s teeth clamp down at the abrupt change in tone. “Of course not. I hope it did not come across like that.”

“See to it that you pay just as much attention to this as you would any other assignment. If it’s as easy as you think, then this should take no time whatsoever.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Then you’re excused.” 

Scalded, Frederik backs out of the room. The tips of his fingers are tingling as if tickled by feathers. Once seated at his desk, it takes a few minutes to regain his composure. That’s when he sees the manilla folder, by his computer where he left it. One of the paper’s bent corners is hooked over the outside.

He leans back in his chair and swipes it. He skips the introductory letter addressed to him and takes another look at the boy. The laminated paper glistens, giving his hair some shine. The fluorescent light that Frederik is viewing him from makes him look jaundiced. 

Brown is someone that’s so horribly average. Not important in any way, except for now that he holds the name of the man they’re looking for. Does he even know what he owns, how valuable it is? Frederik watches his face closely. If not for the hair, he might look like someone in a witness protection program.

He pulls the prepaid card out from the back and types in the numbers. The card hasn’t been cancelled, likely because the balance is low. Chances are that Brown just got sent a new card on a payment network, if at all. It won’t be worth the fees and he won’t be able to recover the money. The whole  _ eleven _ dollars that’s on there.

There’s a monthly deduction of funds from one particular source. It’s the only activity that’s on the card and there have been no large withdrawals or deposits. He investigates the receiver further, all while knowing it will probably amount to nothing. He somersaults down through a few acronyms before he’s rewarded for his efforts.

Ah. Pornography. How  _ old-fashioned _ of Brown.

Though--wait a minute. Upon closer inspection, it’s not just as simple as that. Something’s off about the videos. He can see leather in the thumbnails. The farther down he scrolls, the more like it that he finds. There’s some versatility in the content but there’s no denying it’s kink.

He decides to watch a video--what looks like one of the tamer entries on the site using Brown’s credentials. In it, he sees a boy, probably just a little over twenty, standing half-naked. The boy in the video is small, with dusky blond hair and long, gangly arms that fall far from his waist. The room he’s in is dark and resembles a human trafficking den by the exposed wires and carpeted floors that run adjacent to the wood pannelling on the wall. No natural light touches the scene.

Another much larger man advances on him. The situation escalates. The boy is forcibly lifted onto the bed, his clothes torn from his body. It looks like it could be roleplay. He can see cuffs mounted onto the headrest.

And--oh.

Okay.

It’s not what he was expecting.

He’s watched much worse during his training. Since then, he’s inured himself to what he thinks is repellent and boring, though it doesn’t lobotomize his opinion from him. What he stumbles onto isn’t akin like medieval torture, but he can see why Brown would hide this. It’s certainly not anything you would show a partner, let alone family or the business you work for. Some of the videos are probably quite shocking to the average consumer. A lot of play with bondage and submission, things that are more his style.

But definitely not Brown’s. He opens up the folder again to look at his sweet face and almost can’t believe it. It must be awful to work for the government when you’re trying to conceal something like this from the public forum.

And Frederik would be a hypocrite to judge him, as someone who lives and breathes this. If anything, he’s happy to not have to entertain a slew of older partners who think of him as someone in their late twenties as opposed to early thirties in order to live out that desire of having a young, pretty thing hanging from their arm. If... _ this _ thing with Brown is common knowledge among the higher-ups, then he could understand why they picked him specifically. Though, he doesn’t quite understand the intent. Do they want him to break the boy?

One thing he does know: Brown wants someone bigger than him to throw him onto the bed and make him incapable of words. He wants to be tied up and slapped. Degraded, made to think he has no choice. Frederik can see it in the way he holds himself; how he shrinks in the presence of the men larger than him in group photographs and at banquets. Brown is someone that wants to be told what to do. 

And Frederik obliges.

If Brown was able to hide this, who knows what he gets up to after dark? Canada has been caught with its hand in the cookie jar more times than Frederik can remember. If it’s true, then no stone can be left unturned. 

He only needs a day or two to nail down a type. Frederik uses beard growth oil in tandem with shoe inserts to make himself appear bigger. He scours Brown’s public and private social media, gradually finding a middle-ground for what interests he has and how often he talks about them. Brown’s more of a follower than a leader; he might start a conversation but he relies on the other party to be the impelling force. Easy enough. It gives Frederik more free reign to move the conversation into something he won’t be expecting. The biggest hurdle he’ll have to overcome is sending the right messaging as soon as possible. With a people-pleaser like Brown, it’s all too easy to be contained in the strict “friend” category instead of a romantic partner. 

He pulls designer suits out from his wardrobe and selects a nice muted cologne that won’t be too distracting to the nose. Now’s one of the times that he’s allowed to dress like someone who’s accumulated a small fortune through his line of work. He’s already cycled through a few like Brown: those who commit themselves to their work and live rather frugal lifestyles, afraid to indulge themselves. Sex-related work aside, he might benefit more from giving Brown a glimpse of that whole other world. It just makes him look that much more alluring.

He rehearses his English and thickens his accent. He doesn’t shave, either above or below. Using those few preferences he completely transforms himself. What he projects and what Brown will see will be a fantasy.  _ His _ fantasy, tailed to his every whim.

On the plane ride to Canada, he lets himself imagine. He has a few instruments packed with him. They won’t surface until much later in the night, when Frederik’s probably got a few of the minibar drinks in him and Brown’s been encouraged enough by his words that he agrees to “try them out.” At first, Brown will, inevitably, deny anything Frederik tries to prescribe; he might even shake his head and try to leave before Frederik can coax it out from him. With things like Brown, you have to be careful. Too much pressure and they crack. He needs to get Brown to accept that first invitation; something small and innocent-sounding enough that it could tip the scales in his favour.

He’d like to start by tying his hands behind his back. Simple enough.

He’s going to fuck him, that much is certain. Brown looks like the kind of guy he’d pick up when not on assignment. That already makes it so much easier. Frederik is going to hook Brown’s legs over his elbows so he can push them apart. Use as little prep as possible. Make it hurt, but make it good. Keep his cock in Brown for so long that he feels empty for hours after Frederik’s left with the information he needs.

If he didn’t need words to flow from Brown’s mouth he might be interested in gagging him. Hotel walls are only so thick. Then again, they could always improvise if it proves to be that much of a problem. But Brown doesn’t look like a screamer. He looks like a crier. It might be worthwhile to edge him to the point of confession. 

He’s going to pull those curls and make Brown scream from the pain his scalp is in. The first time he’s come is when Frederik’s going to get his mouth on him. Then a touch to the thigh, the stimulation of the nipple, and his voice in Brown’s ear: to keep the blood flowing. He might begin thrashing by that point, thinking he can’t take more while also lifting his hips to get closer to Frederik’s mouth.

That bondage gear might come in handy.

He flexes his fingers on the armrest. He can’t think  _ too _ hard about it. Not now, on a plane of all places.

The directors book him a room at an extravagant hotel next to a conference centre downtown. He knows it’s a place that Brown frequents and as luck would have it, the centre has a few acts going on the whole week that Frederik can camouflage with (though not luck at all: just considerable planning). The first story of the hotel comes with a bar that serves not only the hotel’s customers but the attendees of the numerous panels, faces washed with boredom. 

The bar’s colours incorporate black, red, and gold into a ballroom-like space that hosts large furniture in the back. It serves a variety of rum drinks, though it calls itself a cocktail lounge on the decal just outside. He gives himself a minute to scope the place out and admire the decals. All judgements aside, it’s a well-decorated space. 

He seats himself at one of the far couches and watches the entrance. He runs the plan of action through his head until it’s been reduced to a science, pretending to read a pamphlet that was handed to him on the way in. 

It’s not hard to spot the head of red hair that walks in. Like it’s a bodily instinct, Frederik is on the move; away from the couches and toward the counter.

He sees Brown in coordinates and fine shapes with right-angled corners; spelled out using the font from the report. He’s done his homework; can regurgitate the small factual elements like his birthplace, family relations, and title. In the background, with a lot looser framework, he can see the profile he’s made from scratch also. Brown lets other people walk in front of him. He waits his turn. If not for the hair, he could disappear into the crowd. Mundane. 

Frederik chooses the seat by the end of the bar. There are two empty seats beside him. He lets himself slouch, orders a drink, and undoes the top button of his shirt, in that order. At this stage, this is methodical. The greatest challenge will be getting Brown to come near him. It’s unlikely he’ll take a seat by the door, where the louder patrons are. The middle section has one or two empty stools but strangers on either side.

He keeps his head down as Brown takes one of the empty seats beside Frederik, one stool down. His body language is slack, though Frederik can see him holding onto tension in the face. He orders something amber-coloured, then looks down at his phone. 

Up close, Frederik can fully appreciate his target. He smells like mint chewing gum and has no visible wear and tear on his face except the bags under his eyes. He’s shaved since the photo they have on record, no longer sporting as thick a red beard. What he wears now is a lot more subdued and appropriate for the office.

Since he’s one of the precious few that are younger than Frederik, he exaggerates his features to find the chubby and rosy bits that draw the eye. Youth is not synonymous with innocence, though. He looks at Brown’s face and sees the history of pornographic videos that probably make him change colours faster than a chameleon can. 

Frederik limits himself to two looks while Brown has his nose in the screen of his phone. After browsing for a while, Brown pockets it and looks around. The loud guests by the door are cheering on one of their friends, who’s been drinking to excess. The bar manager is coming to collect him, causing a ruckus. Frederik watches Brown watching the events unfold until the younger man returns back to his drink with a sigh.

“What a rowdy night to be in a place like this,” Brown says, almost to himself. The invitation is there--he’s probably already looked at him when Frederik was pretending to be elsewhere. 

Frederik takes the bait. “Not that I go to bars for peace and quiet, but I agree.” He raises his voice just enough to be heard.

Brown laughs. He makes eye contact. “True, that. You here for the convention?” His eyes drop for a second: interest.

“Something like that.”

“Well, forgive my curiosity, but you don’t sound like you’re from here.”

“You’d be right; I’m from Denmark.” It’s a waste of time to make up a convoluted story that will throw Brown off of his scent. This way, he sounds less conspicuous.

“That’s a long way to come for a few guest speakers.”

“I’m representing; diplomat business. I’m happy to serve my country, whatever it may require of me.”

“Noble,” Brown raises his glass to him, “I like that. Not everyone would jump on a plane for eight hours.”

It isn’t like he has a choice. “It’s not all bad. Canada is a lovely place, with lovely people. I enjoy coming here. It’s not much colder and I always feel welcome.”

Brown smiles wide: acceptance. “I’m glad. I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening, however. You must have company on the way,

Frederik’s endeared by his conduct, however over-elaborate it may be. “I don’t mind. No, I’m winding down after a long day. Most of my colleagues are…” 

“Noisy?”

“I think I’ll say: infuriating.”

“Harsh words.”

“But not wrong.”

“I will stay out of your way, then.” He turns his back on Frederik, gesture to the bartender with his pointer finger.

Frederik plays it boldly: moving to the chair beside Brown. He can see Brown eye him from head to toe, unaware of his intent. They’re close enough to share body heat, like this. Brown can probably smell his cologne. His eyes look a bit wider. 

“You’re a lot more moderate. I like that in a choice of company: someone that makes time pass faster. And you seem like quite the interesting sort.”

Brown’s smile reappears, aided by Frederik’s compliment. From his new position, Frederik can see the creases in his shirt. The dishevelled appearance--including the scuff marks on his shoes and wisps of hair curling behind his ear--are markers that on any other assignment he would be reading far into. Brown’s come from a busy day himself. He’s medicating a headache with alcohol.

Normally, he would find a way to nip the ensuing conversation in the bud, though not before making a good enough impression to justify giving him a phone number and a meeting place for dinner tomorrow. But, he doesn’t feel like he needs it. Brown’s got a shine to his eyes. He’s easy.

“You sure you don’t have somewhere to be...?” Brown asks, leaving a space for Frederik to insert his name.

Which he does. “Henrik. And no. My room is just upstairs in one of the suites.”

He can see the awe in Brown’s eyes. “Wow. I heard they have lovely rooms here. Much more than I could ever afford. You’re lucky your country treats you so well, Henrik.”

It’s raw, to hear the other name used when it should be his. It’s close enough now to be an imitation: a ghost. But he pushes those feelings aside.

Brown is using his interest as encouragement. Frederik follows suit, using it as momentum. “You’re welcome to come up and look.”

He tapers his voice, trying to give him enough of a thrum that the intent isn’t lost on a rather innocuous phrase. The effect is instantaneous; Brown’s hand reaches up to touch his forehead. A deep red flush spreads out on his cheeks.

“I think you have the wrong idea,” he laughs. Poor thing has probably never had someone come on so strong--has probably never had a man come on at all. There are more patient ways of easing him in. If Frederik wanted, he could stretch this out to an entire week. He would find ways to touch enough skin to make Brown look over his shoulder when he hears a door close. Worn down by what he thinks are his own delusions, he would accept what Frederik has to give. That confirmation alone will make him spread his legs.

That’s seduction, plain and simple. Oh, it sounds torturous to think of now. It helps him imagine what his past assignments might have felt, over the week’s long journey of slow cooking arousal, enough to drive a person mad. 

“Do I? Or do you say that because you know you can’t want this? Because I saw you looking. I don’t make that mistake.” He takes a drink, keeping his eyes trained on Brown the entire time. “Not with someone that looks as you do.”

Brown swallows, making his Adam’s apple bob. “You’re a foreign diplomat. It would be inappropriate of me. There are far more entertaining things to do while you’re here.” He laughs again. It must be his nervous habit.

The second he starts pulling excuses out of thin air, Frederik knows he has him. “And if you’re my chosen form of entertainment?” He lowers his voice, forcing Brown to lean in if he wants to hear him. That stickiness--like syrup--that he coats his words with have charmed political leaders that have a lot more personal integrity than Brown does. He’s but easy prey for him.

“Say you’re not interested,” Frederik presses, “and I’ll leave you alone.”

In the seconds following that line he’s murmured, he worries that, in his elation, he overstepped. A rookie mistake, one he was trained out of ten years ago. It betrays him now, when he should be holding his tongue to let Brown do the talking. Any words that come out of his own mouth incriminate him.

But dear Connor Brown, ever the most kind, must consider Frederik’s enthusiasm as a symptom of his foreigner status, maybe a confirmation of the plain-spoken Danes that don’t rely so heavily on flowery language. Frederik is here and he’s beautiful, charming, and forward. The perfect gentleman and probably the ideal partner.

He’s everything Brown wants, and he knows that. What’s the risk of playing with a foreigner for one night? As far as he knows, Frederik--or should he say Henrik--will be gone tomorrow. No repercussions. No strings attached. 

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Tell me it, then.” He finishes his drink. It will be the last confirmation he needs. He briefly pauses to think of his room. It wasn’t expecting company tonight. This is moving quicker than he imagined.

“Connor,” he says, with a lot less grandeur than he had when they shared their first words. Exposure isn’t loved by all; some would say it’s a punishment to be stripped bare for all to see. 

There’s a reason that sexuality makes such a good weapon. Even if it’s irrelevant here. He no longer cares about the state of the room, not when it will be secondary to Connor’s inexperience. And Connor, well--he’s none the wiser to what Frederik is preparing to do to him. He’s ignorant of the years Frederik spent in training and the many lovers he’s taken, a great number of whom sit cold in their tombs as they speak.

“Connor,” Frederik tries the name on his own tongue. A first-name basis, finally. “It suits you.” Yes it does. So plain, so ordinary. You would never look twice at it on a roster.

“What is it you want from me?” asks Connor. He looks around after he finishes the sentence, aware that their conversation has become private.

Frederik, under the shadow of the bar slab, rests his hand on Connor’s knee. Connor’s breath hitches.

“Just you, for tonight. All to myself.”

That’s a lie: the cameras, microphones, and recorders will see too. But it’s not like Connor will know that he’s in a swallow’s nest, however fine-looking it is. 

Knowing that and so much more, it’s Frederik who needs the restraining on the ride up. It implicates a lot more than just his dedication to the cause.

**Author's Note:**

> Frederik is engaged in sexpionage work, which is defined as "the involvement of sexual activity, or the possibility of sexual activity, intimacy, romance, or seduction to conduct espionage." He targets Connor for information and delves into his "preference" of pornographic videos to increase his effectiveness on the job. Connor is unaware of Frederik's intentions but consents to sex. It's implied that Frederik is going to use Connor's preference for bondage to get information from him.
> 
> come talk to me on my [tumblr](https://cursivecherrypicking.tumblr.com/)


End file.
